Unloved
by MatthewKirklandWilliams
Summary: I saw my scarf floating atop of the surface of the kerosene, it was starting to lose the pink tint and turn more of a gray and brown. Winter and Anya had given me the scarf before I left for college. I never took it off, I couldn't. I wouldn't take it off either. It would burn with me.


I heard the loud voices coming nearer, nearer and nearer. After the loud voices would cease, I would hope to be away by then. I ran to my hiding spots; behind the couch, behind the stairs or in a closet and stayed there until I knew it was safe to come out. Today I was in the closet; the voices of Them were just too loud, too close… I knew I had to hide quickly. Carefully opening the door, I look around under my silver colored hair to make sure the coast was clear and headed quickly to my room, but as usual I was caught. He caught me. He was to be called "Winter". I made the mistake of calling him dad once, that didn't end well. As for my mother, she told me to call her Anya. She was beautiful once, fair skin, beautiful smile. Now her twenty year old body looked old and ragged like she was twice her age. Her skin that was once bright and young now was corrupted from what could be from all brown glass bottles and lack of sleep.

I could easily tell that Winter had a few of the glass bottles; it was easy to tell by the smell. The sour smells of the brown glass bottles were heavily on his breath and clothes; he was also swaying a bit. The look he was giving was that of something of disgust or pure hate. It made me tremble because I knew what was coming next. Soon Anya stepped out from the room behind him and mirrored almost the same expression as Sir. I began shaking and they laughed and advanced, I backed away slowly, gripping the scarf around my neck, suddenly I wished I didn't have it. The scarf was only a useful tool to hurt me. They laughed more and called me a coward. What did they expect? I am six.  
"Sir…" I whimpered out as my back hit the wall, ruining any hope I had to run. I looked over at Anya, my blue violet eyes full of fright and curiosity, "What have I done?" They would sneer and new blue, black and yellow marks that would add to the ones still on my pale skin.

I lay on the floor in the room with the TV I noticed it was getting dark and knew it was almost time for me to be put in my room. I hugged my knees tighter and peaked up at them, they ignored me for the most part, but once their show went off they looked down at me. Winter is always the one to drag me to my room. He grabs my silver hair and drags me up the stairs and to my dark room. He throws me in and calls me a coward and a pathetic. The door would close and the familiar sounds of locking could be heard.

I got up from the floor and blindly made my way over to my bed. It wasn't like I would trip over anything, my room was plain; I only had a few toys and things to entertain myself. I get into bed and wrap the thin blankets around me, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. The only light was the lamp shining in the one window. I tried to tune out the noise I would hear in my room. Nonexistent footsteps, the feeling of someone standing right there beside of your bed, watching you sleep.

I can feel my heart beat quickly; my little hands start to sweat despite the biting coldness. My window was always open and it had snowed a lot that night. I wrapped the thin blanket around me tighter in hopes of finding warmth. Tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes, the dark was scary. They knew I hated it and made sure I endured as much of it as possible. Do the other kid's families do the same? Do they have to hide bruises too? Do they call their daddies Sir and their moms by their first name? Did they not go to sleep cold? Why did the kids at school always look so happy? The name and the words they tell me sing and dance in my head till I finally become too exhausted from crying and fall asleep.

**Twenty years later.**

What was love? I didn't understand love. As a child I was never really taught what real human connection was supposed to be like. Love didn't make sense, no matter how many times I read it in books. I sighed and sat down at my small beaten up desk and stare down at the blank piece of paper. I didn't dare go out; there was no one to trust, I would much rather be alone. This was my second year of college and working on my writer's career. I picked up one of my shots of vodka and took a shot before slamming it down. After I gave up with my paper or figure I had written enough I would end the day and do the same thing the very next day.

I tore off my shirt and pants and replaced them with a pajama shirt. I snuggled into my bed and turned over, leaving the light on. I always slept with the lights on. Though some things never did change, I still cried myself to sleep. Every night. All because of one thing: love. I don't ask for much, I am pretty happy with what I can easily reach with the little money I did have. But there are always things you can't buy with money. Love, I wanted to feel it. What did it feel like to love? To be loved? What did it require? It had positive and negatives. I was willing to go through the negatives, just to feel some sort of love. People scared me though and people thought I was scary, so I never tried.

Until one day.

On the walk to my dorm one night I saw a boy in a red hoodie. I called out to him and asked him if he knew where Priv street was. He just gave me a funny look and turned around and walked away. Next thing I know I grabbed his shoulders and lead him behind a building. I put my lips to his neck, kissing and sucking, giving him red patches on her neck. I caress his soft young delicate face, so smooth and innocent. His eyes were like a sky blue, clouded in a mist of tears slowly leading down the sides of his face. I stroke his short blond hair with one hand and revel in the softness. I run my hands down his chest, the midsection and down to his thin ankles.

I made my way quickly back to my dorm and locked myself inside. I knew my dorm partner wouldn't be back. I pressed my back against the door and put my head in my hand. I had left the boy there, crying behind the building, clothe-less, a crying mess and surely various patches of bruise.

I had been born of glass but now I only felt apathy. No regrets, but still, that hard human pain that is there when you know you have done a terrible deed. I felt disgusted with myself. I felt like the ones I grew to fear. I walked over to my window and opened it, snow. Light snow breezed in occasionally but other than that it was calm and beautiful. The ground was covered with a new layer of snow. It hadn't been treaded on. Still perfect and innocent. Unlike himself. He had a new layer, untreaded, pure. Tonight, that was ruined for two people

I tore myself away from the window and took the kerosene can and began pouring it into the plugged bathtub. I took the lamps and began to drain them also, shards of glass and dirt occasionally mixing in with it. I dug in the cupboard for the desired item, after some frustration I finally found it and held it tightly in my hand. I did not bother to strip out of my clothes and stepped into the kerosene filled tub. I pulled out a short little stick from the box I found in the cupboard and quickly struck it. I saw my scarf floating atop of the surface of the kerosene, it was starting to lose the pink tint and turn more of a gray and brown. Winter and Anya had given me the scarf before I left for college. I never took it off, I couldn't. I wouldn't take it off either. It would burn with me.


End file.
